Just The Facts
by Shena1
Summary: The pillow feels off. The mattress feels off. Everything feels off. She's been laying in bed for almost three hours and her brain won't turn off, a tempest of thoughts and questions and doubts flooding her mind. ...A "Driven" (7x01) scene filler fic. COMPLETE
1. The Facts

**Didn't plan to jump on the "Driven" bandwagon, but this just kinda happened.**

**Contains spoilers for 7x01**

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><p>She turns her head again, flopping her other cheek onto her pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. But to no avail. The pillow feels off. The mattress feels off.<p>

Everything feels off.

Eyes wide open, she reaches for her cell to check the time. 2:36am. She's been laying in bed for almost three hours and her brain won't turn off, a tempest of thoughts and questions and doubts flooding her mind.

Wiping her hands roughly over her face, Kate inhales deeply as she turns onto her back. Wide awake again.

After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, her tongue digs into the inside of her cheek before she sits up, fingers carding haphazardly through her long curls.

In a single fluid motion, she tosses the grey comforter to the side and throws her legs over the edge of the bed. Elbows digging into her knees, she buries her face in her warm palms as she takes one more deep, solid breath, steadying herself before she pushes off the mattress.

Taking a look past the shadow-encased bookcases - dim light from the Broome street lamps cascading across his desk - she pivots on her heel and creeps through the far bedroom door, making her way towards the couch, the hardwood floor cool to the touch of her bare feet.

Her movements halt as she approaches the couch, street lights basking it in obscure darkness, slashes of burnished light washing over the objects in room.

Deftly, she runs her fingertips across the soft leather before settling herself on the floor, knees tucking themselves against her chest, Castle's oversized Green Lantern t-shirt wrapped around her lithe form.

She sits, immobile, on the shag rug, the rhythmic beat of her heart mixing with the muffled sounds of the traffic outside soothing her slightly. But it doesn't provide much comfort.

Her brain continues to race.

Whenever Castle can't sleep, he writes. Told her it helps clear his head so his mind can rest.

Glancing at the glass-top coffee table, she reaches over to pick up the pad of lined paper Martha abandoned there a few days earlier, a blue pen laying just beside it.

'_Okay...'_ she thinks to herself as she clicks the button on the top of the pen. Maybe it'll help. Clear the mess of tangled thoughts from her brain. Help her see the facts in a new light.

The facts.

What are the facts?

Hesitantly, she brings the tip of the pen to meet the paper. She exhales slowly, pausing to consider the question.

And then her hand begins to move, dark ink flowing across the yellow page.

_Fact: You were not in the car._

_Fact: Your cell phone was found in a black Escalade._

_Video footage shows you alive and well just after the SUV was crushed._

She takes a short breath as she brings her hand up to her face, her fingertips wiping away the stray tears that have begun to trickle down her cheek before resuming her thoughts.

_Fact: You have been missing for 9 days now._

_The FBI removed themselves from the loft two days ago._

_Martha and Alexis have been wonderful. Comforting. Supportive. Strong._

She stops on the word _strong_… wondering if she has been the same for them. They never doubted Castle. Can she say the same about herself?

She swallows lightly before continuing.

_Fact: You are smart._

_You have a multitude of resources._

_You have contacts all over the world. (Thought - look into Paris)_

Her pen feels heavy in her hand, quivering as she writes her subsequent thought.

_Fact: I love you._

She almost writes _'You love me'_, but for some reason her hand won't move. Won't put those letters on the page as images of him dropping a bag in the dumpster flash through her mind.

She throws her head back against the couch, shutting her eyes in defeat as her head and heart wage war against each other.

Facts, Kate. Stick to the facts.

Releasing a short, heavy sigh, she refocuses and resumes her list.

_Fact: I can't sleep._

_My appetite is gone._

_Coffee tastes wrong._

_Your pillow smells like you… but you're not there._

_I miss your hair, your hands, your lips._

_I miss the heat of your body beside me in bed. The rhythm of your breathing._

_I can't look at our framed shells without crying._

_Everything reminds me of you._

_I haven't been able to step in your office._

_The closet mocks me._

_The loft feels empty._

_Nothing feels right._

_It doesn't feel like home_

She stares at the last line for a moment and then adds:

_...without you._

Realizing what she just wrote, the pen tumbles from her grasp, dropping onto the rug beside her as she stares at the shadowed page, the words dark, but legible.

_It doesn't feel like home without you._

Eyes wide, Kate's mind begins to focus. Her resolve steady.

She fingers the top sheet and carefully rips the paper from the pad leaving a blank sheet on top. She quickly scribbles a few words on the page before rising from the floor.

She shuffles over to the kitchen, placing the pad and pen in the middle of the counter before returning to the empty bedroom, the recently penned list held tight within her grasp as if it's a lifeline - a safety net that will keep her from falling.

She knows what she has to do.

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><p>Martha quietly descends the staircase, new morning sunlight flooding through the windows, casting a warm ambient glow throughout the loft. Crossing over to the kitchen, a yellow pad of paper on the high counter catches her attention.<p>

Glancing at the familiar script on the page, she forces a smile, though her heart weeps for her would-be daughter-in-law.

_"Gone back to my apartment. For now."_

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><p><strong>xxx<strong>

**Flew without a beta... you can blame me for typos.**

**So there you go. Judge away.**


	2. The Truth

**I hadn't intended to continue this 7x01 filler fic, but a few people asked me to...**

**And then this happened.**

**So here you go...**

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><p>Sliding the key into the brass lock, her eyelids shut while she inhales deeply. Holding her position for what seems like an eternity, Kate gingerly turns the key to the left, the pins sliding into place one by one, their clicks echoing through the deafening silence of the deserted hallway.<p>

Releasing a heavy breath, she wraps her palm around the doorknob and pushes, the door swinging into her apartment.

Her dark apartment.

Her empty apartment.

Swallowing the anxiety that is lodged in her throat, she steps across the threshold, entering the hollow space.

The silence of the room engulfs her immediately, the dusty light of the early morning sun just beginning to pierce through the windows. Soft beams dance across her shelves, highlighting the various decorative items and books aligning the wall.

Taking careful, measured steps, Kate glides into the open space, the tips of her fingers unconsciously smoothing across the cool, stainless steel island countertop as her eyes slowly take in every facet of the room that she knows so well.

And yet, it all seems so wrong.

Her eyes lock on the couch before her. The grey couch.

The vacant couch.

Taking a step towards it, she halts her movements, suddenly taken aback by the sight of Castle sitting there, pouring her a glass of wine, his strong, enticing arms flexing within the loosely rolled up sleeves of his silk shirt.

Shutting her weighted eyes, she steadies the erratic beating of her heart, taking a deep, heavy breath.

Tentativey, her eyelashes part… her eyes once again falling on the soft grey cushions... the haunting ghost of her fiancé no longer there.

Her fingertips glance along the soft skin of her bottom lip as she hypnotically stares at the sofa - lost in the painfully beautiful memory of his gentle lips pressed against hers - before her eyes flicker over to the bedroom door, a single tear welling in her eye.

The room calls to her, but her feet remain rooted - unable to move.

It's been so long since she lived here. Since she's slept in that bed.

Even when Castle left town for his spring book tour, she'd stayed at the loft - often burying her face in his pillow, relishing his delicious scent that had been infused into the cotton sheets.

Her mind flashes back to the last time she stayed here.

She'd caught wind of Jason Marks' presence in Manhattan and crawled out of the midnight warmth of Castle's bed to tail the consultant. But instead of returning to the loft, she'd opted to head to her apartment - she'd known she wouldn't return to bed and she hadn't wanted to disturb Alexis and Martha.

But even that night, she'd remained on the couch - even after dozing off a few times.

And now, the idea of sleeping in her bed - alone - holds no joy. And neither does the apartment itself.

Once, it had been her refuge. Her quiet escape and place of comfort.

Her sanctuary.

But it hasn't been that for her for quite some time now. In fact, it has been more like a place of storage than anything else since she returned from D.C…

T-shirts she hardly wears still hang in the closet, a few older pairs of jeans tucked away in the nearly empty dresser. The fridge and cupboards completely bare except for a can of coffee grounds. The books she hasn't had a desire to re-read still piled up on the stairs. Her bathroom void of amenities save a bar of soap and a spare toothbrush. A light layer of dust settling on her dining room table.

Swallowing lightly, it suddenly occurs to her that this apartment feels less like home to her than the loft does.

A heaviness pushes against her chest at the realization that without Castle, nothing seems right. Without Castle, she feels empty.

Without Castle, she's essentially homeless.

A stray tear trickles down her cheek as she shuts her eyes, trying desperately to fight back the wave of emotion threatening to overpower her.

After a few moments, she manages to calm herself before opening her eyes - her attention falling on the enormous Alex Gross painting on her wall.

_Matasaburo of the Wind._

It was one of the first things she'd purchased after she'd moved into this apartment.

The moment she saw the woman on the canvas… it was like staring at the internal chaos whirling around within her own mind. The wind in her face… everything pushing against her.

Everything crashing down around her.

'_Just like me,'_ Kate reflects.

She'd lost everything.

And after she was shot, Kate was enveloped by the darkness once again – chaos consuming her. Controlling her. She drew in on herself.

Yet, when she'd hung the painting on her wall for the first time and had taken a step back - allowing its grandeur wash through her new home - she'd also seen strength. A sense of determination.

To continue to battle against the elements that were pushing against her.

To not give up even though things seemed dire and hopeless.

To embrace the will to keep going until the storm clears.

And locking her eyes on the oil painting now, she steels her resolve. Digs deep within. Refuses to let fear be her undoing. To let fear win.

Pursing her lips together, she nods once, offering a silent vote of thanks to the nameless mystery woman on her wall before turning her back on the painting and heading into her office.

Inhaling a deep, firm breath, she reaches forward, tangling her fingers around the wooden knobs. Exhaling with a sense of surety - eyes burrowing straight ahead - she pulls open the shutters, the frosted window a blank canvas before her.

Digging her teeth sharply into her bottom lip, she squeezes her fists tightly - nails cutting into her palms - before tacking a picture of Castle to the centre of the window.

Her fingers caress his image only for a second, allowing Kate one last moment before Beckett takes over.

She will uncover the truth.

She _will _find Castle...

She will find her home.

She has to.

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><p>.<p>

**This one was for lv2bnsb1 who prompted me with: "You could write another chapter you know, show how hard it was to go back into her apartment. Dusting things off, thinking about her in that old space."**

**(Hope it lived up to your expectations) :D**

**.**

**Judge away.**


	3. Home

**This was supposed to be a one-shot! **_**What the heck happened?!**_

_***sigh***_

**Okay… so Part 3 of the 7x01 filler fic. **

**(I really think this is it… seriously...)**

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><p>The slight nudge against her shoulder stirs her from her slumber, her eyes lightly fluttering open - only to be met with the hazy sight of a familiar set of piercing, blue eyes.<p>

Eyes that keep your attention when they stare back at you. Eyes that seem to be able to read every layer of an individual. All your secrets.

Penetrating eyes. Yet, eyes that are also comforting and caring. Protective.

The gentle touch of a warm palm against her arm soothes her for a moment. A touch so familiar…

A mother's touch.

Beckett blinks twice as the blurry face before her becomes clear. "Martha?" she whispers, wiping the sleep from her eyes with the edge of her finger, the uncomfortable, hard leather padding digging into her side. "What're yo-"

"Katherine," Castle's mother utters firmly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do y-"

"Darling," she interrupts, "you've practically being living at the Precinct since Richard went missing." Kate opens her mouth to protest, only to be silenced by the wave of Martha's palm and firm voice. "Don't try to deny it. We both know it's true."

"Martha…" Kate begins, sitting up, quickly glancing at the glowing numbers on the microwave. 3:03am. "I-"

"I know, Darling, I know," the diva placates. "But spending almost all of your waking hours planted behind that desk," she flourishes her hand in the general direction of the breakroom door, "and sleeping on this…" she waves her hand dramatically at the piece of industrial furniture that pretends to be a couch, cringing at the sight of the stained throw pillow on which Beckett was resting her head, "...thing… is not doing _you_ any good."

Martha wraps both of her hands around one of Kate's, her skin so soft and warm - pausing a moment before continuing. Ensuring she has the detective's full attention. Kate almost quivers at the sensation - it feels like it's been forever since she's been touched by someone. Since she's allowed herself physical contact with another person. Any person.

Her breath catches as she listens to the motherly voice fill the darkened void. "You should come home."

Kate stares off into the opaque somberness of the breakroom - unable to meet Martha's intense and concerned glare - eyes landing on the shadowed form of the espresso machine, a faint shine due to the dim bullpen lights reflecting off of its stainless steel encasement.

Tears begin to well in her eyes as she swallows down the lump building in her throat.

_Home_.

The concept feels so foreign to her now.

These past eight weeks have been torturous. Late nights at the Precinct that have melded into early mornings. Phone call after phone call turning up nothing.

No leads.

No news.

No partner.

She thought she'd be able to escape the pain of Castle's absence by staying at her apartment, but even that became impossible to bear. He'd infused himself so much into her life - into her very being - that everything she touched, everything she looked at, released a haunting memory.

She'd used her home-office window as a murder board for a few weeks, but as much as she tried, she was never able to sleep there either. The bed wasn't an option, but even her couch offered no sense of peace nor rest - the ghostly memories of them cuddling together, relaxing, or making love on that couch taunting her. Tormenting her with the fear that those memories would be all she would ever have - that she would never see him again. Touch him again. Love him again.

So she eventually relocated a few weeks ago - opting to not even bother leaving the Precinct. At least here, she can be busy. At least here, she has resources. At least here, she can be Beckett.

And having never had any intensely romantic interludes in the breakroom, at least here, she can sleep - albeit not deeply... nor comfortably.

Turning to face Castle's mother, Kate heaves a deep sigh before speaking, her gaze deviating from the blue eyes that remind her too much of her fiancé's, quickly looking down at her enclosed hand.

"Martha…" she chokes, closing her eyes as she shakes her head. "This is all I know how to do." She swallows once, a single tear escaping from her eye, splashing down on the back of Martha's hand. "This who I am…"

Martha reads the pain on Kate's face, but says nothing, wisely waiting for the younger woman to find the words she's been trying to express for weeks. Months.

Years.

Beckett inhales deeply… once… twice… before the weight of her body collapses on itself.

"I don't know who I am without him…" she breathes on a whisper as her head falls forward again, her body trembling, her long, mussed curls curtaining across her face, shielding her. Hiding her.

"Katherine." Martha's ardent voice echoes through the dark silence of the room, anchoring Kate in a way she didn't think was possible. "Darling, look at me."

Kate chokes back the flood of tears that hovered, threatened, but never fell, as she slowly raises her head and tentatively cards her fingers across her scalp, pushing her hair back from her face while tucking a few stray tendrils behind her ear as the rest tumbles loosely down her back.

Her hooded, achingly heavy eyelids finally lift, staring straight back at the older woman - her brown eyes blood-shot and completely exhausted.

Practically lifeless.

"I'll tell you exactly who you are," Martha says, voice strong, solid and unfailing. "You are one of the most tenacious, driven people I have ever met. You have a beautiful heart and a caring soul. You are the woman who inspired my son to be a better man. You are the love of his life. You are family." She pauses thoughtfully before finishing, her tone so genuine. "You are my daughter."

The tears that she'd been able to hold back for so long begin to trickle steadily from Kate's eyes as she stares at Martha, her heart pounding heavily in her chest as it simultaneously shatters into a million pieces.

"Be who you are, Katherine," Martha whispers, tapping her warm palm against the back of the detective's hand, "and come home."

Without another word, the older woman rises and silently crosses the room, making her way through the nearly deserted Precinct towards the elevator.

And Kate - stunned - buries her face in her hands, breathing deeply against her palms before pushing herself off the hard couch, gliding across the bullpen, halting in front of the white murderboard. Staring at the picture of Castle's face for a few minutes, the echo of his mother's words reverberate in her mind.

_You are my daughter._

_Come home._

Home. Family.

Turning her head to look at her desk, her gaze falls on Castle's chair before shifting to look at her elephants. Her mother's elephants.

A family.

Home.

Steadfast in her resolve, Beckett purses her lips together before grabbing her jean jacket from her chair and heading towards the elevator.

She'll come back when the sun rises again.

But right now, there's something she needs to do.

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><p>Kate's eyes scan over the array of post-it notes and news paper clippings one last time - though she has already memorized every bit of gathered information displayed - before taking a deep breath and gripping the shutters, closing the left, then the right.<p>

She's not giving up.

But she will start fresh. New eyes. Different eyes.

Turning her back on the closed window, she looks at her desk. She'd once solved the greatest mystery of her life at that desk. She'd discovered who killed her mother. And she'd done it with help. She'd done it with Castle. With Ryan and Esposito. With her family.

But that was then. And this is now.

Reaching into the top drawer of her desk, she wraps her hand around a pair of scissors and resolutely crosses through her living room, squaring her shoulders as she passes through the doorway that had become almost forbidden for the past few weeks.

Entering her bedroom for the first time in months, she doesn't even pause to take in her surroundings - heading straight past her bed and into her bathroom.

Staring at herself in the mirror, open palms planted flat against the marble counter top, she locks her gaze on the woman staring back at her.

A woman who, for too long, has been allowing herself to drown in yet another mystery.

"Not this time," she asserts aloud, her words sure and unyielding, hazel eyes locked on hazel eyes.

Wrapping her hand around the handle of the scissors, she picks them up, threading her fingers in the holes. Glaring hypnotically at the open blades, her thoughts wander to various writings she's read about Asian cultures. About the symbolism of cutting of one's hair. How it is indicative of self-renewal. Letting go of the past and starting again.

Shifting her gaze from the scissors, she looks back at her reflection - her long, chestnut waves tumbling down around her face and over her arms, brushing across the middle of her back.

Without another thought, she fists a bunch of hair in her left hand, lifts the scissors, and slices.

Glancing down at the bundle of hair now laying loosely in her open palm, Kate looks up again at her reflection - the shortened locks now spilling just over the top of her left shoulder.

'_Start again,'_ she muses as she quickly evens out the rest of her hairstyle, cutting off the remainder of the long strands.

Leaving the scissors in the sink - buried within several bunches of brown hair - she marches back through the bedroom, grabs her jacket from off the back of the living room chair, and - taking one last look at _Matasaburo of the Wind_ - she leaves the apartment... and goes home.

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><p><strong>For lv2bnsb1 who asked for a Kate-Martha heart-to-heart...<strong>

**And for Fooxoo (and a few others) who wanted the haircut. **_**(Thanks for helping me find my words!)**_** *hug***

**.**

**So there you go. **

**Judge away. :D**


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